Italy is for Lovers
by Clara de Morra
Summary: A stroke of terrible luck on the rooftops of Venice leaves Ezio wounded and alone in a dark alleyway, until he is unceremoniously rescued. When he wakes, he wishes to thank his rescuer; however, she wants none of the "gratitude" he has to offer.
1. Chapter 1

I actually finished this in... July? I think? The website where I originally posted this is currently down, so I can't check. The following story, "Italy is for Lovers", took me nearly a year and a half to complete, with multiple rewrites and revisions. I'm not a hundred percent happy with it, but, then again, I finished it nearly five months ago, so of course there are things I feel like I could have done better.

Anyway, please enjoy.

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

_May 1482_

Elizabeth Romano di Venezia is the first of three daughters of the noble Romano family, and perhaps one of the most beautiful women in Venezia in 1482.

A mere twenty-one years old, she is surely a sight to behold. Long brown hair stretches far down her back in gentle, shining waves. Her face is symmetrical, her skin smooth and nearly flawless, her features delicate, and her body well-shaped, especially for bearing children.

On the surface, it is a wonder that she is the only one of her sisters that has yet to marry.

However, to those that do know her, it is obvious why she hasn't: she has grown tired of those who vie for and crave her attention and affection, so she believes that those who do are automatically and completely unworthy of it. She snubs any and all advances of any and all men, be they noble or commoner, and she is a tricky woman to get the attention of; it is even trickier to hold her attention for longer than a moment.

So when her attention is caught by a wounded man in the alley not far from her home, it makes her wonder if the men who've attempted to court her would be compelled to go on moronic escapades to do the same.

The man's eyes are hidden in the shadows cast by his hood, but the lower part of his face is bared, scratched and bleeding. Red splotches stain the gray fabric of his clothing, the rips in it revealing the sliced and bruised flesh beneath. He stands on quivering legs, his shuddering gasps for breath almost resonating throughout the empty alleyway. He appears to have escaped from something, though just barely.

His legs finally give out, and he sinks to the ground, his right hand on his left thigh, clutching weakly at the arrow that is embedded in his flesh. He breaks the shaft of it and pulls it through the other side, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to prevent himself from being noticed by those who may still be hunting him.

She approaches him, standing just within his line of sight, and he glances up to see a long blue skirt. If he were not injured, he would probably have been chasing it. He looks up further, his eyes meeting a pinched-in waist, the currently faceless woman's hands propped upon her hips.

She kneels down to him, and even if he could, he dare not say that she's giving him an eyeful of chest flesh from the cut of her dress. He looks further up, bleary eyes just short of meeting hers as he lets out another shuddering breath.

His eyes finally close, and he slumps against her, unconscious, his face pressing against her chest.

She sighs, almost in frustration; she cannot just leave him there. It would almost be a crime to do so after he had slipped into unconsciousness upon her bosom.

As best as she can possibly do by herself, she hoists him up, the dead weight of him a bit heavier than she had anticipated. She frowns, half carrying, half dragging the unconscious man through the empty back alleys and back to her villa. She manages to get him upstairs and to the guest room, and automatically leaves to retrieve cloth dressings and a basin of hot water.

She carefully strips him of his intricate belt and peels back his tunic and undershirt, baring the gashes on his torso to her searching eyes. She turns to soak a clean cloth in the hot water before turning back to begin cleaning his wounds, dabbing at and wiping away the blood that is sticking to his skin.

A hiss escapes him, and she looks up to his face. His eyes shut tightly for only a moment before returning to their relaxed state.

Setting down the wet, once clean cloth, she picks up one of the cloth dressings, but is interrupted by a hacking cough as he tries to pull himself up. He looks at her from underneath his hood.

"Where am I?" He questions.

"My villa." She answers shortly.

He is about to ask why, but she holds her hand up, cutting him off before he can even begin.

"If you are able to sit up completely, do so." She states, eyes narrow and jaw stiff.

He nods once, and lifts himself from his place. She places the end of it near his wound.

"Hold it in place."

He does so, and she begins wrapping the bandage roll around his torso and beneath his tunic. He smirks to himself; she has to reach around him, very much in an embrace, to bring it back around him. He can feel the warmth of her skin from the cut of her dress, soft breasts pushing against him as she brings it around again and again.

"What are you hiding from?" She asks before her mind has the chance to tell her that it is a poor decision to ask such a thing.

"I am not hiding from anything." He responds quietly.

"_Questa è una bugia e lo sapete_..." She almost snarls.

"Can I prove it to you in some way?"

She purses her lips, and he knows what she wants.

He swallows and pulls back his hood, revealing his face to this woman. And for the first time, they both get a good look at the other's face.

He isn't much younger than she thought he would be; perhaps his early twenties, mid- twenties at the very most. His skin is pale and almost ashen from blood loss, and a small scar begins above the right side of his upper lip, and spans to his chin. He has an almost boyish charm to him, mostly in his face, and dark stubble shadows his jaw line.

Her expression doesn't change as much as he had hoped… really, it doesn't change at all. He decides that it's time to show this beautiful woman what he's really made of.

His facial features soften considerably, and he leans towards her, his hand coming up to touch her cheek.

"I would like to thank you, if that is alright…" He purrs.

…and she slaps his hand away, instinctively.

"You can thank me by getting rest and healing properly. I am not interested in your 'gratitude.'"

He blinks a few times, surprised, as she pushes his back flat against the bed and wraps another dressing around the wound the arrow had left behind on his left thigh. She then throws a clean sheet over him before turning to leave.

A beautiful woman had just turned him down.

It is unthinkable! It is unheard of! It is...

Rather intriguing.

He sits up.

"Wait."

She stops and turns to look back at him, a scowl marring her face.

"I apologize for my behavior. It was uncalled for."

"Apology accepted. It would be appreciated if you could hold your tongue the next time the urge might arise." She pauses. "That is the best I can do until a doctor is called. Be grateful for that, at least."

She shuts the door behind her.

He may have been imagining things, or it could have been a trick of the light, but he can swear that her expression had softened.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He can see her through his mostly closed eyes; the blue-skirted woman is sitting by him, stroking his hand gently, and waiting for him to wake. She smiles gently at him; a smile so beautiful that even the lovely Cristina Vespucci herself would turn green from envy.

She believes him to be asleep, but words do not come from her mouth. Instead there is the gentle pressing of her soft lips upon his own, and she stays there for longer than intended. He tries not to smile against the kiss, but finds it very hard not to, considering how cold she was to him hardly an hour ago.

It doesn't take long for the scene to change. Noting that she is now only in a thin nightdress, he wastes no time as he approaches her, his mouth on hers instantly in a deep, delicious kiss. His fingertips brush against her skin as his hands slip underneath the fabric, gently pushing her nightdress from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor…

His eyes snap open and he sits up suddenly, pain shooting through his abdomen from the wound. He lets out a disappointed sigh as he brushes his hair back from his face with his hand.

She's not sitting at the edge of the bed waiting for him to wake. Nor is she lying undressed and asleep next to him.

It was just a dream.

He eases himself back down, pulls the sheet over himself, and closes his eyes, trying to find sleep.

But it continuously evades him.

He starts to believe that he simply cannot help it. Especially since there is such a beautiful woman in the same villa as he.

A beautiful woman who had slapped his hand away the moment he began his advances.

It certainly complicates things for him.

And he certainly can't get to sleep with his mind going faster than he would care for it to. He glances around before rising and sitting up slowly, gently pushing the sheet off of himself. He shifts, his feet touching the floor, and he stands carefully.

But luck appears to be against him, for when he does, the floorboards groan loudly under his weight.

He hears hurried steps up the wooden stairs, and she slams the door open, anger marring her features when she sees that he's up.

"I told you to stay in bed!"

His eyes are wide as she storms over to him, shoving him back down.

"_Madre di Dio_, I will tie you down if you try to get up without assistance again!"

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow.

"You will rip open your wounds if you try such a thing again! And that means that you will have to stay here longer!" She ignores the implications of tying him down, continuing to scowl. "If you tear your wounds open, you will be more trouble than you are worth!"

"Are you suggesting that I am... trouble?"

She narrows her eyes, and his jesting tone vanishes immediately.

"You seem to be mistaking the need for you to be on your way as concern for your well-being, so I shall make this clear and simple: the longer you rest, the sooner you can leave. I do not know what, nor do I care, but I know you have better things to do than loiter about in my villa!"

And with that, she turns on her heel and leaves, but leaves the door open. True to her word, she returns with a pair of thick sashes while he is sleeping, and binds his hands to his chest and his ankles together.

Needless to say, he is less than pleased when he awakens.

"What is this?"

She stands over him, her eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

"I told you that I would tie you down if you tried to get up again. This guarantees that you do not."

He frowns at her. This is clearly not what he had in mind.

"I will untie you from your comfortable place when the doctor arrives. Until then, you stay where you are."

When her back turns, he frowns. This was nearly as far from comfortable as he could possibly be.

He knows that at some point, she had unbound his wrists; probably, like she said, when the doctor had arrived. He was either asleep or unconscious for all of it, as he did not remember any of it happening. When he awoke, however, his wrists and ankles have been released from their bonds, and his wounds are more cleanly dressed.

He is also missing his trousers.

He knows that she isn't being forced to do anything for his sake, but she continues to do so as if she had made a vow.

She is certainly more benevolent than her words are leading him to believe.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

_June 1482_

"You can, yes?"

"...I can."

"Please? Will you do this for me?"

She frowns at him.

"No."

"Please?" He pleads again.

He appears as if he shall burst into tears at any moment. She rolls her eyes in defeat.

"Fine, but never ask me to again!" She nearly shouts.

She grabs his folded clothing that rests on a small stool, and storms away. He falls backwards, almost exhausted from just that. He just wanted her to mend his clothing!

She returns a few minutes later, throwing a fresh shirt and pair of trousers at him, and they hit his face before falling into his hands. He stares at the clothes as she turns to leave.

"I am not helping you dress."

She shuts the door before he can beg and plead and pout her into submission.

He remains in the comfort of the bed for a number of days, surely over a week, wrapping himself in the warm, clean sheets and sleeping for most of it. She does not stay in the room to make sure he is healing; she already knows that he is, so there is no need for her to be there.

Not even as company.

While he was awake, she would only pass by the opened door, and not even spare a glance in his direction. However, she stops short and glares towards him, looking rather offended.

"When was the last time you saw a washtub?"

He opens his mouth to speak, but he falters and no words come out. She wrinkles her nose.

"That's what I thought."

She strides to the bed, roughly seizes him by the collar of his shirt, and yanks him upwards, dragging him to the wash room and ignoring his pained groans. She pushes him through the doorway, turns towards the small linen closet nearby, and grabs and shoves a white towel into his hands.

"There is soap on the shelf next to the washtub. For Heaven's sake, wash yourself. You smell terrible."

She wrinkles her nose again and frowns, shutting the door behind her.

He shrugs. He may as well.

Shedding his shirt and trousers, he slips into the hot water, recoiling a bit from the heat. He sinks into the water until his chest is completely submerged, and he exhales slowly; this is something he certainly missed while traveling. He runs a hand over the lighter flesh of the scars on his torso, the largest ones being on his stomach and his left thigh.

All of his wounds had nearly healed.

And he would have to continue his travels.

He wishes to stay longer, of course. To be in the same villa as a beautiful woman who refuses his advances is nearly torture, and he so very much wants to fix that.

With those thoughts still in his head, he washes quickly, rises from the washtub, and dries himself before gathering up his clothing and heading back to his room.

...to find his clothes, mended and folded neatly upon the bed.

Before he can even think whether or not she's a talented seamstress, he realizes something: he knows just short of nothing about her. Perhaps he can ask around Venezia?

He dresses quickly, and, noting that she isn't even in the house at the moment, he pulls on his boots and almost leaps down the flight of stairs, and gently pushes the door open, peering out into the the small courtyard. He squints, the light from the sun much brighter than he was expecting, and he steps outside. There's a small garden in the right corner near the door, a tree in the center, surrounded by white flowers, and a stone bench sits near it. He notices that the flowers are well-tended, so perhaps her heavily veiled kindness is not a figment of his imagination.

It's then that an idea flashes into his mind.

Why not ask _them_?

His feet carry him to all of the large, open areas in Venezia that he can think of. He almost feels as if they would know a way for him to get this beautiful woman's words to equal the kindness of her actions.

"_Buongiorno_, _estraneo_." One of the courtesans purrs, a knowing smile on her ruby-painted lips. "Why do you never visit us anymore? We miss you something terrible."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

He stops to catch his breath from running as he approaches the group, lowering himself to his hands and knees, bowing his head.

"Oh, wise and noble courtesans. I humbly seek your advice." He begins, far more formally than he should. "There is a woman who has caught my attention. By the heavens, she is beautiful, but heart is too well-guarded; she ignores all of my advances."

They blink owlishly, almost confused.

"Please. You must help me convince her."

"Convince her to sleep with you?"

"Convince her to look at me with something other than hate."

"And that is all?"

"It is enough for now."

A large portion of the group starts to murmur to each other before one of them steps forward.

"If it is the woman I am thinking of... you will need all the help you can get."

He looks up.

"Which woman is that?"

"Elizabeth Romano di Venezia. She is, without a doubt, one of the most beautiful women in Venezia, and the coldest to any man who believes himself worthy of her attention."

"A beautiful woman in blue with long brown hair tended my wounds after an incident and I had fallen unconscious. Could that have been her?"

"She tended your wounds?"

He nods, which again makes several of the group start to murmur amongst themselves.

"What is it?"

"If it is her, you should know that it is hard to earn her attention, and harder still to keep it for longer than a short while. How did you manage such a feat?"

"I do not know. She found me injured in an alley."

"Then that is your answer."

"Pardon?"

"You were injured, and that proves that your situation was interesting to her. Even if she were to admit it to you, she will surely not show it in public; she has her image to uphold."

Ezio strokes his chin in thought.

"She was interested in my 'situation', hm?"

The women nod.

"Here is my advice to you." One of the women steps forward. "Do not try. Simply be."

He raises an eyebrow.

"'Be'?"

"It is simple: she detests those who try to win her affections, but not those who do not strive for them. If you do not strive for them, she will not detest you. She also does not take kindly to flirtations; however, she prefers those who are simply kind to her, but expect nothing in return."

It's so simple, but he's not surprised he hadn't thought of it before. He was so completely used to women blushing and giggling at the way he spoke to them that it was like he had pushed the thought of a woman rejecting his flirtations out of his mind. He was so used to getting what he wanted, from reactions to sharing a bed with a beautiful woman, that the idea of not getting either had never crossed his thoughts.

"_Grazie_, _Donne_." He bows politely to the women, and they giggle and fan themselves as he leaves.

"_Buongiorno_, _Madonna_. _Come state_?"

She turns towards him to see him hanging upside-down from a wrought iron shop sign, but she does not respond.

"May I at least have your name?" He smiles. "You have taken such good care of me; my wounds are healed because of you."

Still, she does not respond. He frowns a little as he pulls himself up, reaching the roof of the building.

"I am Ezio. Ezio Auditore da Firenze." He calls back to her, turning to free-run along the roof.

"...Elizabeth Romano di Venezia."

He turns back towards her and his frown had vanished.

"It is a pleasure to finally be acquainted to you, _Madonna_ Elizabeth."

He smiles before disappearing from the edge.

If he had paid attention for only a moment longer, he would have seen the small, slightly amused smile that she wore.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

_September 1482_ She hasn't seen much of him lately. In a way, she is grateful, not having to cater to his neediness, but then again, she realizes that taking care of someone is not so bad. Especially when he was so very polite in his manners. She returns to her favorite chair, a shirt with a torn seam in her hand and a needle and thread in the other, and opens the window for the cool breeze. She turns the shirt inside out, threads her needle, and begins to mend it. "_Buonasera_, _Madonna_." The sudden voice makes her almost jump, and her short, high-pitched shriek makes the owner of the voice nearly lose his grip on the windowsill with a yelp. "_Mi dispiace_!" Ezio swings into the room, more hurried apologies spilling from him. She clutches at her chest, slumping back in her chair before glaring at him. "Are you out of your right mind?" She hisses at him. "Swinging through windows, scaring the life from me..." "_Madonna_—" "Are you incapable of using doors? You need to use windows instead?" "I am sorry for startling you, I truly am." He apologizes quickly. She seems to calm down at his apology, although she is still frowning and breathing deeply. "I wanted to thank you again for taking care of me while I was here." He reaches into his tunic, and pulls out a paper-wrapped, small box that has a ribbon tied around it. "As thanks, I bought you a gift." He holds out the gift, and she stares at it for a few moments before taking it. He smiles, and quickly kisses her cheek before fleeing through the still-open window before she has time to react properly. _January 1483_ Nearly four months have passed, and, unbeknownst to Ezio, his present to her remains unopened on her dresser. Her attitude towards him, while certainly not worse than normal, has also not improved too much. She hears a knock on the door downstairs, and she rises to answer it. The knocking comes again. "_Vengo_, _vengo_..." She mutters. She opens the door to see a mass of white, gray, and red. "Do you need something, Ezio?" "_Ciao_ to you as well, _Madonna_." "I see you've decided to use the door this time." He grins. "It is a nice change." He answers. She raises an eyebrow. "Any reason why you're here, Ezio?" "I...eh, damaged my clothes a few days ago." "Doing something _contro la legge_, I assume?" He chuckles almost nervously. "You were the first one I thought of that could help. If it's florins you want, I—" "_Bene_, _bene_, come in." She sighs, waving a hand and motioning for him to come in. She leads him to a well-sized living area. "Stay here. Please." She says. She leaves to retrieve her sewing things, and he takes a seat in one of the chairs, looking around. Next to him is a small, round table with a vase of flowers, and then an identical chair, with the same shining wooden legs and light blue seat and back cushions. A long, low table is a few feet in front of him, and beyond that is an equally long sofa, its cushions the same light blue. A tall, slender ebony vase stands near the archway he had entered the room through. She returns with a small basket, and he stands, making a move to remove his tunic. She puts her hand up. "You may leave it on. Where is the damage?" He twists slightly, glancing around for it, and finding it, points it out: on his right side, beneath his arm. She kneels down, a needle between her lips, and examines the rip. "It's not terrible, but one wrong move and it could get worse." She comments offhandedly before glancing up. "I apologize if you feel any pinpricks. I assure you, it is by accident." He nods. She picks out an appropriate color and threads a needle, beginning to work. "This is the second time you've mended my clothing. Do you do this often?" "It began as a hobby, but it has become my profession. Most people who require my services have lost count of how many times they've stumbled over their own hems and boots and trousers while walking on even ground." He chuckles. "I am the same way occasionally." "I hope not while running along rooftops." She remarks, pulling the thread taut. "I think I am better on rooftops than I am on the ground. On rooftops, at least, there is no one to trip me and get me into trouble." It's her turn to laugh, but she mostly covers it with a cough. "You get yourself into trouble just fine on your own." "True enough." She ties the thread off, and snips what hangs loosely with a small pair of scissors. "Alright, _finito_." "Really?" "Yes." She stands, smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt. "Thank you, _Madonna_." He embraces her graciously, and she does not move. She feels him press something into her hand before he releases her, and he bows, turning to leave. In her hand is a large bag, filled to the very brim with florins. Those robes must be very dear to him if he is willing to give her that many florins just for sewing up a little rip. 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

_April 1483_

"Again?" He laughs nervously. "_Bene_." She rolls her eyes, and motions for him to come in. As he walks past her, she takes a fistful of the fabric of his hood, and he stumbles backwards. "Not in the villa, Ezio. You appear far too suspicious with it on." "Indeed." He smirks. "Shall I take it off, then?" "Only if you mean your hood and not your trousers." He pouts, feigning disappointment, and she shoos him to the living area while she goes to retrieve her sewing things. When she returns, he rises from his seat. She gives him a questioning look, and he turns his back to her, showing a thin, albeit long, slash running from his right side and past the middle of his back. "How on earth did that happen?" She asks, her eyebrows knit in both amazement and a touch of anger. "I was fleeing from archers. One had a sword and got very lucky." "You are very lucky to not have taken any damage from it! This is a bigger problem than I imagined. Please remove your tunic." He undoes the half cape on his left shoulder, as well as the belt that rests upon his right, and folds them, setting them upon the cushion he had previously occupied. He then unfastens the many buckles on his elaborate belt, and unwraps the crimson sash, the fabric smoothly sliding off and draping in his hands. His tunic hangs open loosely, and he shrugs it off, revealing the rest of the loose white undershirt beneath it. He hands it to her, and she carefully takes it as she sits upon the sofa. "This will require time, Ezio, and much of it." He nods. "That is fine; as long as it is mended with care." She says nothing. "Which is why I came to you." He adds. "Yes, yes, I understand. I'll get it done as soon as I can." He blinks in confusion. "Oh, no, no. I did not mean to suggest— Please, take your time with it." "Your flattery suggested otherwise." He sputters a little, and she smirks. "Ezio. I jest." His facial expression nearly makes her laugh. "If you want to wait here whilst I work, you are welcome to." He nods once, and takes a seat upon the empty chair. She picks through her small sewing box, and picks out a needle, a spool of gray thread and a spool of red, and she threads her needle with the gray and begins her work. Her hands slide beneath the fabric, one pushing the threaded needle through the fabric before returning to pull it upwards. As her hands and fingers do what they are meant for, she feels a vague, albeit soothing warmth almost emanating from the fabric in her hands. This was the tunic of a man who had reason to search, to hunt, to kill. There was no real joy in his expressions nor his actions when he sought her out to mend his clothing. There would and will never be. Not for this. She gently shakes him awake. "Ezio, it is finished." It feels like it had taken her nearly a week's worth of work, but here it is, in her hands and lacking the slice in the fabric. "Really?" "Yes." "Thank you, _Madonna_. For everything so far." He presses a bag of florins that surpasses even the size of the first into her hand, but she shoves it back to him. "It is important to you; I understand that. Keep your money. You may need it in the future." He shakes his head. "I will not take that for an answer, _Madonna_. You have done me a service I cannot easily repay, even with florins." He again presses the bag into her hand. "Please. Keep it." He whispers. She sighs, and does. His lips touch her cheek, and although he lingers much longer than he means to, she does not push him away. _November 1483_

"_Sorella_, can you braid my hair for me?" Adalena, Elizabeth's youngest sister, asks her.

"Can't you do it yourself?" She responds.

"You know I cannot! You've seen what it looks like when I do it myself; it looks terrible!"

"_Va bene_, if you insist."

Elizabeth combs Adalena's long hair over her shoulders.

"What's the occasion?"

"Fausto is taking me to dinner this evening!"

"You have married a good man, Adalena." Elizabeth responds quietly.

"_Sorella_, why haven't you married?"

Her sudden question causes her elder sister to pause.

"You know of that feeling when you knew that Fausto was the one you would marry?"

Adalena nods.

"I am waiting for that."

"But _sorella_, there are plenty of men who try to court you. How will you know that feeling if you push them all away?"

"Their intentions are as clear as the daylight. They wish to court me to say that they did. And when they fail, they become frustrated, and cease their courting. Because I am 'too stingy with my _virtù_'."

Adalena opens her mouth to speak, but her sister holds up her hand, cutting her off.

"I am not deaf, Adalena. I know what they say about me. If they think me too stingy with my _virtù_, then I had better convince them of it."

"What about that man? You never told me his name, but he comes by often."

Elizabeth pauses, the shock she is feeling rather apparent on her face.

"...Ezio. His name is Ezio."

Adalena giggles.

"He has a handsome name. It matches his handsome face."

Elizabeth frowns at her sister.

"Do not say such things; you're a married woman."

"You know I wouldn't!"

"You had that tone in your voice like you would! You know how your husband feels about you complimenting other men like that: he gets jealous."

"He should not be." Adalena pouts.

Elizabeth ties the end of her sister's hair with a ribbon.

"He may be your husband, but he is still young. And young men tend to get jealous when their beloveds speak so highly of other men."

"How do you know so much about that?"

She smiles a genuine one.

"Observation."

Adalena stands up, smiling back.

"Perhaps he is the one, _sorella_. Maybe he deserves to see you for who you are."

She then leaves to meet with her husband, leaving Elizabeth speechless and wondering the same thing.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

_February 1484_

"_Ciao_, Ezio." This simple greeting is enough to stop his steps. He turns to look at her; she is nearly ten feet away, a small smile curling her lips, and the small curtsey that follows is— "_Ciao_, _Madonna_." He nods to her politely, cutting off his own thoughts. What had caused her to change her attitude towards him? "Is something wrong, Ezio?" He shakes his head, almost too forcefully. "No, of course not." If that doesn't make her suspicious, nothing will. "You are sure?" She raises an eyebrow. He nods. "_Va bene_, I won't press it." She turns to leave, but— "Wait." She turns back, a questioning look on her face. "Why has your..." He pauses. "Why are you being so... so nice to me?" She raises an eyebrow, frowning. "You want me to treat you like I used to?" "No, no! I mean, I am just wondering." She blinks, her expression unchanging. "I am just taking some advice from my sister to heart." She continues to walk away. He stumbles a little as he jogs to catch up to her, and she raises an eyebrow, a small grin tugging at her lips as he does. "Are you headed home?" She nods. "Do you mind if I accompany you?" "Not at all." He offers her his arm, and she raises an eyebrow. "_Mi dispiace_. Force of habit." "Oh, no need to explain. I believe you." She continues forward. "You do?" She turns to look at him. "I didn't think it was that hard to imagine." "I... er, never mind." She raises an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. "Since when did you become so easy to tease?" "Since when did _you_ become so teasing?" He retorts. That did it. She is consumed by giggles, and he feels as if his eyebrows are becoming intimate with his hairline. It is just such a surreal sight, seeing her not being sarcastic nor teasing, but genuinely happy like this. He likes the sarcastic side of her, but if he had to pick, he would choose this side of her in a heartbeat.

_December 1484_

"I remember you saying that you have a sister?" Ezio sits himself next to her upon the stone bench in the small courtyard in front of her villa. "I do. Two sisters, actually." She responds. "I do not recall ever seeing them." "That is because the youngest, Adalena, lives with her husband Fausto in Siena. Occasionally, they both visit, although not as often as either of us or our parents would like. As to why, they now have a newborn daughter that needs to be cared for. As for my middle sister, Serafina... all I remember is that she lives in Rome, and that she is married to a man named Alessio. But I have not seen either of them for many years, so they may not anymore." He does not answer. She glances to him. He is already looking at her, with an intensity that she had never seen from him before. "What?" "Please do not take this the wrong way..." He begins. She feels her heart skip a beat, and she prepares herself for either an overused compliment or perhaps a snide comment about her for continuously brushing off his flirtations. "But... you have such lovely eyes." ...that was something she was not expecting. Not at all. And she is rather taken aback by it. Also something she was not expecting. "They are such a deep, striking blue." He continues. "They remind me very much of the night sky of Firenze." And for the first time in a long while, she finds herself nearly at a loss for words. She is still very taken aback by what he had said before she can get the words to come to her. "I... I remind you of Firenze?" She replies, almost shyly. "I guess that I could say that when I see you, I see a bit of my home." He states quietly. Perhaps Adalena is correct after all; maybe Ezio does deserve to see her as she is. 


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

_August 1485_

"_Madonna_—" She puts a hand up, silencing him in her typical fashion. "Elizabeth. I do not need a formal title, Ezio." "Elizabeth, I was wondering something." "Yes?" "Would you care to join me for dinner?" She pauses. He is the first man to ask so formally, and so courteously. After some thought, she answers. "Of course, Ezio." "Oh well, at least I..." He clearly had been expecting her to turn him down. "...wait. Wait, what?" "I said, 'of course, Ezio'." He blinks. "I, uh... did not think you would accept so readily." "I did not think you would ever ask." She grins. "Shall we go now?" He offers his arm to her. She takes it, still smirking. "We can. And where, kind sir, are you going to take me?" "Wherever you wish to go." She raises an eyebrow. "Such a gentleman." "As a lady, you deserve no less." She begins to lead him down a narrow side street, and he blinks in confusion. "...where are we going?" "Ezio, you are wearing a hood. You look as suspicious as you do dangerous, so we are going to the villa to dress you in something more appropriate." As if it is the most obvious statement. "I'm sure I have sewn some clothing for men, although it may or may not be to your liking. We'll just have to see." They return to the villa, still arm in arm, and when they are inside, she begins rummaging through chests of drawers and stacks of folded clothing. She throws a pair of dark trousers to him, as well as a loose-fitting crimson linen shirt, and they hit his face. He frowns at her, but she responds by hiding a giggle. "Sorry." "Care to help me dress this time?" He grins. He dashes off to one of the upstairs rooms, grinning like an idiot before she has the chance to respond. Not a few minutes later, he comes back down the stairs, dressed in the clothes that she had thrown at him, and adjusting the shirt slightly. "Do they fit well?" She asks. He nods, and again offers his arm. She takes it and they head out. As they walk down the street, Ezio cannot help but notice the number of stares they are receiving. Most of them being directed at him for the woman on his arm. He can nearly feel the envy of the younger men as they pass by, as well as the curiosity of how he had managed to "tame" Elizabeth Romano, the formerly cold beauty of Venezia. Their dinner is very uneventful, something that he is very grateful for. He believes he is doing a fair job of keeping her attention on him; he begins telling her some stories of his childhood, such as when he and Federico hid from their father for most of a day, but were only given away when a very young Claudia giggled at their predicament: they had gotten stuck in their hiding place of behind a large wardrobe. Their father had scolded them, but was not truly angry, and was happy to see that they both were safe. "And you, Elizabeth? Any entertaining stories from your childhood?" She brings her hand to her chin, thinking. "...Adalena is the troublemaker of the family, so she has the most stories out of anyone of my family." "Anything that stands out?" "In terms of humor, or in terms of how many people were angry at her at one point?" He snorts a laugh. "Either." "Well, in terms of humor, she decided that the best course of action to take on a young man named Bernardo was to make him lose his footing. Near a canal." Ezio winces slightly. "He had a terrible habit of not watching where he was going, so Adalena hid herself behind a corner, and shoved a stone in his path." She continues. "Needless to say, he did not see it, so he tripped over it and fell right into the water. Of course, it did not help that he had no idea how to swim, and Adalena felt guilty about it, so she dove into the water to rescue him." "Well, now I know something that you and your sister share in common." She raises an eyebrow. "And what's that?" "You're both more benevolent than you lead others to believe." She smiles. "It's just how we are." 


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_February 1486_

"Elizabeth, I would be honored if you would accompany me to Carnevale."

She turns to look at him.

"Do you expect me to swoon, fall into your arms dramatically, and flutter my eyelashes with a breathy 'Oh, Ezio~! Forget about Carnevale! Make love to me now!'?"

"Occasionally." He admits, shrugging.

She almost laughs.

"Only if you are lucky."

"That wasn't a 'no'." He smiles.

He offers his arm to her, and she takes it. He begins to lead her to it before she stops him.

"Have you any idea what Carnevale is, Ezio?"

He appears almost offended.

"Of course!"

"Then surely you know that you would look less suspicious in fine clothing as opposed to assassin robes?"

He pauses. He hadn't thought of it that way before.

"You may leave your robes at my villa, and retrieve them after you are done at Carnevale."

"_Grazie_, Elizabeth."

"And I suppose that you will have to get a mask; you are far too recognizable to those who know who you are, if you are indeed a wanted man."

His steps falter, and he is quiet for a long while.

"How did you know?" He responds quietly.

"I have seen the posters around the city for the past five years. '_Morti di Vivo_. 50,000 florins'. That is quite a price on you."

"How long have you known?"

"Since I found you injured in that alley."

"Did you ever think of turning me in for the florins?"

It's her turn to shrug.

"Once, only to think better of it. It would be a shame to—"

She cuts herself off.

"'A shame to' what?"

"It would be a shame... to lose someone as interesting as you to the gallows."

He pauses before smiling slightly.

"Elizabeth, even if they could arrest me, there is simply no way that they could get me to the gallows."

"But still..."

"Is that concern I hear in your voice?"

"Perhaps."

"How sweet of you." He smiles.

She raises an eyebrow with a smile of her own.

"Come now, _amante ragazzo_, we should return to the villa to prepare for Carnevale."

He smirks at her new name for him as she begins to walk away.

"Lover boy, hm?"

She grins as she glances back to him.

"Maybe if you're lucky."

He is certainly feeling very lucky. Unless, of course, she's gone from an unmerciful _scossa_ to an unmerciful cocktease.

Which is more than likely.

He follows her to the villa, and then realizes something.

"Elizabeth?"

She turns.

"Yes?"

"Where are your mother and father?"

"I never told you?"

"I never asked." He shrugs.

"They are in another part of Venezia. The villa was their gift to me when my sewing services became more well-known, and more people began showing up to the villa."

"An incredible gift, to be sure."

"Oh yes. It is not nearly as large as theirs, but since I almost never have guests, too little space has never been a problem. But anyway. I have some clothes for you for Carnevale. I do hope they fit."

"I am sure they will."

"Wait at least until you try them on, Ezio."

He laughs as they walk through the doorway.

"I'll get them and put them in your room on your bed."

As she climbs the stairs, a feeling of happiness fills him. She referred to the guest room as _his_ room, and the bed as _his_ bed...

She may have told him that she lived alone, but right then, she had suggested otherwise.

"Alright, they are there." She calls down.

"_Grazie_, Elizabeth." He calls back.

He goes into his room and shuts the door behind him, turning towards the bed. True to her word, very fine clothes are folded neatly at the foot of the bed. His fingers curl around the fabric to get a better look: the shirt itself appears almost silver-white in the low light, and the long sleeves, loose enough to hide his bracers that conceal his hidden blades, hang loosely at its sides. It has a collar very reminiscent of his assassin robes, and it is lined with dark crimson.

Placing the shirt next to the rest of the pile, he then lifts the sleeveless golden doublet that was folded beneath the shirt. The intricate pattern does not show as well as it can in the low light, but it gleams as if it is made of true gold.

The trousers that were beneath that are dark, possibly dark brown or black, and like the rest of the garments, are tailored excellently.

These will certainly work well at Carnevale.

He undresses quickly, and pulls the new clothes on before hiding his bracers beneath the sleeves. He smiles; he can barely even tell that they are there just from looking.

"Ezio? Are you done?"

He finds her room, and knocks on the door twice.

"Elizabeth?"

"Can you help me please?" She responds. "The door is unlocked."

He swears he can feel his heart skip a beat, and he presses downwards on the door handle, the door creaking open as he pushes forward. She is standing in front of a full mirror, the fabric of her dark violet gown shifting as she moves.

"What do you need help with?"

"There is lacing on the back that I can't reach. Do you mind?"

"Oh, not at all."

His fingertips skim down her back, and the lacings of the dress curl around his fingers. Her hair is brushed over her right shoulder, exposing the other side of her neck. Against his better judgment, he lowers his head, his lips touching the exposed skin.

She draws in a sharp breath.

"E-Ezio..."

It only pushes him further. He sucks lightly at her skin, his hand skimming across her stomach and heading steadily upwards, and he swears that her breathing has become panting, or even moaning.

"Ezio..." She repeats, as firmly as she is able to.

"Yes?" He responds breathlessly.

"...please stop..."

His breath hitches, and his heart feels as if had leapt into his throat. He nods slowly, and finishes lacing the back of her gown, almost in disappointment. She affixes a violet mask to her face, and they head to Carnevale without another word.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Fireworks shoot into the air, filling the night sky with stars and sparks. Many people are either dancing or walking between vendor stalls, bright and intricate masks concealing the faces of all. Ezio and Elizabeth take their time, ignoring the dancing and heading straight to a stall that is selling a large variety of equally elaborate masks.

"Ah! _Buonasera, signore e la signora_! How can I be of assistance?"

"My friend needs a mask. Can you help him?"

"Of course! He needs only to pick one!"

Ezio's eyes scan the assortment before settling upon a crimson mask edged gorgeously with gold. He points to it.

"That one, if you would."

The vendor fetches it enthusiastically, and Ezio drops some florins into the vendor's hand and takes the mask, placing it upon his face as he and Elizabeth leave.

But someone catches his eye, and the mere sight of her makes his heart stop in his chest.

_Cristina_.

Cristina Vespucci. Here. In Venezia.

And she is just as beautiful as he remembers her being.

No... no, no, no.

This is not good.

Not in the slightest.

The last time he had seen her, she had told him of her engagement to Manfredo Soderini.

Those simple words, that short sentence, had broken his heart.

He watches as she disappears into the crowd, and he is sorely tempted to go after her. But he knows that even if he did, they could never be together like they used to.

"Ezio?"

Elizabeth's voice sounds distant, as if she is further away from him than she truly is.

"Ezio!"

She sounds closer now. He turns to look at her.

"Are you alright?"

He nods almost dumbly.

"I will return shortly."

She nods, and he begins to wade through the crowd. But against all better judgment, he begins searching for Cristina. And while the guilt of leaving Elizabeth to instead look for Cristina lies heavily upon his mind, he does not stop.

His heart pounds within his chest when he finally sees her: she is dancing elegantly with who he assumes to be her husband, and when he sees that she appears to be genuinely happy, he can feel his heart break again.

He swears to himself that he will see her after he is—

"Ezio? Ezio, is that you?"

The song had ended sooner than he had imagined.

And Cristina had spotted him.

She approaches him and immediately pulls him into a warm embrace.

"It's... it's been a long time, Ezio."

"Indeed it has. How are you?"

"The same as ever, I suppose... What brings you to Venezia?"

"Carnevale, of course."

"Where are you staying?"

"With a friend." He answers vaguely, and he can tell that his answer is not satisfactory in the least.

But she doesn't press it.

"Are you here with your husband?"

She nods slowly, and he feels his heart drop. He believes that he cannot help it, especially when so near to her.

"Walk with me." She whispers.

He pauses, and makes up his mind.

"_Mi dispiace_, Cristina, but I cannot."

She blinks, clearly confused.

"Why not?"

"I..." He begins. "...I am here with someone. She will be wondering where I've gone to if I do not return soon."

Cristina can nearly feel her breath catch within her throat, although she doesn't show it.

"Would you like to meet her?" He offers.

She swallows and nods once, forcing a polite smile. Inside, her heart has stopped; she does not want to meet Ezio's newest lover. Not because she feels as if she won't like her, but because she does not want to accept that he has moved on or replaced her.

She follows him to a much more open area, filled with people milling around aimlessly, and she sees who he is leading her towards: a woman in dark violet, standing by herself.

"_Ehi_! Elizabeth!"

She turns towards the voice to see Ezio with an unfamiliar woman.

"Who is this?" She nods towards Cristina.

"Elizabeth Romano, this is Cristina Vespucci. Cristina, this is Elizabeth."

They curtsey politely to each other.

"_È__ un piacere conoscerti_." Cristina smiles, bowing her head.

"_Il piacere è mio_." Elizabeth bows her head as well.

"You are Ezio's lover, _s__ì_?"

Elizabeth blinks in an almost stunned silence before hiding her laugh.

"Oh. No, no, not at all." She answers, shaking her head.

He raises an eyebrow suggestively.

"That's not what you were saying the night before."

"Oh, you certainly wish I was!"

She shoves him gently, and Cristina feels as if a large weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

"Cristina? Cristina!"

A man's voice calls from several feet to the group's left.

"Ah! Manfredo!" Cristina stands upon toetips and waves to her husband. "Over here!"

He gently pushes his way through the gradually thinning crowd, eventually making it to the small group.

"Ezio, Elizabeth, this is Manfredo. My husband."

He bows politely to them, which they return.

"I am sorry to cut this so short, but we must be going soon." He states, clearly out of breath. "The last boat of the night leaves for Forlì in less than an hour, and there is still the trip back to Firenze."

Cristina nods in understanding before turning towards the other woman.

"It was a pleasure to meet you. Really."

Elizabeth smiles, but says nothing as they turn and leave, disappearing into the crowd.

"So." She begins.

"So... what?"

"You may be able to lie very well in your words... but you are hopeless with your eyes. You are in love with her. Or, you were."

His silence is enough confirmation for her.

"I thought so." She mutters.

Ezio's heart wasn't the only one that had felt like it had broken that night.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Their walk back to her villa is slow and almost excruciating. The silence that hangs in the air is deafening, and the tension is so thick that if it were corporeal, it could be cut with the bluntest blade.

She clears her throat, but does not speak. His heart is pounding within his chest; he knows that he should say something, but as to what that could possibly be, he hasn't a clue.

Ezio hears snickering from the shadows and a shuffling of leather on stone. This is something that he did not expect to happen, especially with the many events of Carnevale.

"Well, now... heading home from Carnevale already, _amore uccelli _(love birds)? Going to forgo the festivities for a more..." He grins perversely. "..._argomenti intimi_ (intimate matters)?"

They do not answer.

"I asked you a question, _amore uccelli_."

Again, neither of them answer.

"What's the matter? Are we not entertaining enough for you? Shall we dress in harlequin costumes, and juggle knives?"

Ezio frowns, moving slightly to block Elizabeth from their view.

"Harass us further and the consequences will be great."

They chuckle darkly.

"Or you'll what?"

"Would you care to find out?"

"Is that a _threat_?"

The man, probably no more than a simple pickpocket, growls and makes a move to grab the collar of Ezio's shirt, a knife now in his hand.

However, Ezio is too quick for him. His hidden blades stab through the man's chest, and he yanks them out quickly to stab at another that had run at him. He glances around; there has to be seven of them, at the least.

But that is now the least of his worries.

They grab Elizabeth by her arms, and as she struggles, snarling at them, they laugh mockingly, the wretched stench of alcohol filling her nose.

"_Ehi_! Quit messing around with that woman and help us with—!"

One yells to the small group, but he is cut off by a sharp blade piercing through his gut. Ezio turns upon the group, his hidden blades coated with blood and his stare cold.

"I would advise against harassing her further, _codardi_."

His voice is low and filled with guarantee of pain should they ignore his words. The small group quivers noticeably before releasing her and fleeing the scene, shouting promises of vengeance with numbers to back them while tripping over their own boots.

His hidden blades retract before he approaches her.

"Are you unharmed, Elizabeth?"

She seems to not hear him, continuing to stare in the direction that the group of thugs, now long gone, had vanished in. His hand touches her arm, and she nearly jumps.

"Elizabeth? Are you unharmed?"

"I... I am fine." She glances back to him.

"Let's get you home."

She appears almost ashamed as he leads her down the alleyway.

"I never believed that I could feel so helpless."

"You should not. No one is capable of doing everything."

"Says the man who is able to do everything." She states quietly.

He stops in his steps.

"Not even I am capable of that. I understand completely what it is like to feel helpless."

He takes a gentle hold on her hand, squeezing it in a gesture of comfort. She shifts her gaze towards him, her expression one of uncertainty.

"If you are uncomfortable..."

He trails off as she turns towards him, and her arms slide smoothly around his middle, her face burying itself into the fabric that is stretched across his chest. His body stiffens; he never expected her to—

He hears a muffled sob come from her, and he pulls her closer; she feels so small and fragile within his grasp.

"Come now. Let's get you home." He repeats, much quieter than before.

He leads the way as she wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand, her occasional sniffle letting him know that this is real.

After a long while, they finally reach the villa. He assists her up the stairs and to her room; she doesn't trust her legs to carry her. She trembles before stumbling on the hem of her gown, and Ezio throws his arm out to catch her.

She does not even glance up at him.

"_Va tutto bene_?"

She does not answer.

His fingertips brush against the smooth skin of her jaw, and he tilts her head so she is looking at him. He swallows roughly; her eyes are still somewhat red, her cheeks flushed, the paths of her tears clear upon her skin.

He glances downwards. Only a few inches, and, gazing at her slightly parted, red lips, he is sorely tempted to kiss her. Kiss away her tears, her fright. Kiss away anything and everything.

"May I...?"

She doesn't have time to answer.

He gives in to temptation, locking their mouths together.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The silence rings in their ears as he parts from her.

"Y-you do not love me..."

It nearly breaks her to say those words, and he can tell.

"Why do you say such a thing?" He whispers huskily.

"You love Cristina."

"Hers and my time together ended. It ended the day she told me that she was engaged to someone else, when she said that she did not want to see me anymore." He murmurs against her skin. "Now there is you. There is only you."

"E-Ezio…"

The second that his name falls from her lips is the moment she realizes that the long battle with herself is finally over.

He steps around to her back, gently brushing her hair aside, his hands fingering the lacings of her gown.

"May I?"

She nods slowly, and he unties the lacings before his hands move to the contour of her shoulders. His fingers push beneath the fabric, easing both the violet gown and the flimsy gown that acted as an undergarment from her shoulders, letting them fall to the floor with a faint rustle. His hands gently touch her upper arms as she steps out of her clothes.

"I want to see you…"

She glances at him from over her shoulder.

"It is only fair that you return the favor."

He cannot recall undressing faster than at that moment. Tossing the clothes and his bracers to the side, his fingertips touch her arms again as he turns her to face him. Her fingers run across the well-defined muscles of his chest before going down to go over the long scar left by the gash on his stomach from nearly four years ago. His lips touch her forehead and his strong arms wrap around her torso, his fingertips rubbing small circles on the smooth skin of the small of her back.

He kisses his way down her neck and she tilts her head back, and as he bites lightly at her skin, he savors the restrained moan that it draws from her. The feeling of her body pressing against him is unlike that of any other woman he had been with.

He manages to pull himself away, and takes a step forward, causing her to back up a step. He takes another step forward, and another, and another, the back of her legs eventually hitting the frame of the bed and her knees giving out as she sits upon the mattress. He leans over her, and backs her up even further until she is nearly against the headboard.

He takes her into a breath-taking, heart-stopping kiss as he tugs her legs around his hips. The vivid dream that started nearly four years ago, and has replayed itself in his head on so many occasions that he had lost count, is finally becoming a reality.

How long they make love, neither can tell, nor do they care to. What matters is that moment. Not the when's or why's, nor the how's or where's.

_Only now matters_.

_Nothing else_.

He is first to wake, the sun shining in through the window. She is asleep next to him, and her hair is fanned out around her. He does not wish to disturb her, so he carefully slips out of her bed and begins to pull his clothes on.

As he pulls up his trousers, something catches his eye: a small, paper-wrapped box with a ribbon.

His gift to her from nearly three years ago.

He takes it from its place on her dresser, and seats himself back on the mattress. She shifts her position and sits up, stretching her arms above her head. His eyes begin to wander when the sheet falls to her hips as she arches her back.

"_Buongiorno_." She covers her mouth as she yawns.

He holds it in her line of sight, an eyebrow raised.

"You never opened it."

She smooths her hair.

"Pardon?"

"You never opened it. The present I bought for you." He pouts sadly.

"We weren't exactly on the friendliest terms, though, were we? To be honest, though, I believe that I had forgotten about it. _Mi dispiace_, Ezio. Truly."

He sets the small box delicately in her hands, and she tugs the ribbon loose. She lifts the lid of the box, and the jewels inside catch the light immediately.

"I did not want to give you florins, like I would with a doctor."

She carefully lifts the necklace from its place.

"So you buy me a necklace that is overflowing with sapphires?"

"They match your eyes."

She can feel her heart skip a beat. Even then, he wasn't thinking about any of the qualities that men typically think of.

"Shall I continue?" He whispers quite huskily, reminding her immediately of the events of the night before.

"_Si per favore_..."

His fingertips stroke the smooth skin of her jaw line as his face draws nearer to hers.

"Every breath that leaves you is a breath of life for me."

His lips come into gentle contact with hers, and the kiss is sweet and loving.

As he parts from her, he again whispers.

"You are a goddess of life among the lifeless."

"Y-you flatterer..."

He kisses his way down her neck and stops to speak again.

"If it were not for you, I would not be alive."

He takes the necklace from her, and motions for her to move her hair aside. He unfastens the miniscule latch and brings the necklace around her throat before fastening it again. She turns towards him, her fingers making sure that it is lying flat.

"Truly, though. I would not be alive if it were not for you."

He moves closer to her, and gently holds her against him.

"For saving my life, for putting up with me, for everything. Thank you."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

_March 1486_

She listens to him in silence as he explains what had happened to him. How Uberto Alberti had betrayed his family, leaving his father and brothers dead, and how he had killed him for it; how he and taken his sister and mother away from Firenze to Monteriggioni, to the safety of his uncle's villa; and the discovery of the conspiracy that led to the start of his quest.

There is no other way: he has to leave, and she has to stay behind.

He holds her hands gently, and he softly kisses her mouth.

"I will return. No matter how long it takes." He reassures her.

"And I shall wait. Whether you return within the year, or in ten."

He opens his mouth to respond, but she silences him before he can.

"Please. Just... take care of yourself, Ezio. If not for you, then for me."

Before he knows what he is doing, his arms wrap themselves around her and pull her against him. A muffled sob reaches his ears, and his hold upon her tightens.

He knows he has to leave. The problem lies in actually doing it.

He tilts her chin upwards and kisses her one last time before mounting his waiting horse, casting a glance back at her. She is wringing her hands; he knows that she wishes to go with him, but they both know that it would be too dangerous. He steers his steed to not a foot from her, and he reaches down, one hand taking hold of both of hers and the other resting on the small of her back when he hoists her up, and he kisses her heatedly. She clutches at the front of his assassin robes, ignoring the curious glances of others.

"_Ti amo_, Elizabeth Romano." He breathes.

"_Ti amo_, Ezio Auditore." She murmurs, her voice shaking. "_Si prega di restituire in modo sicuro_..."

"_Avete la mia parola_, _il mio amore unico_."

_1489_

She almost feels terrible; she has had to turn down three different men in just one day. Did they all pick today to try and court her?

The first sounded as if he had done it on a dare; he was nervous and shaking, refusing to even make eye contact with her.

The second was not worse, but certainly not better than the first. He had stopped in the middle of his sentence before turning tail and running.

The third was... well, more polite than the previous two.

But she told him the same thing that she tells everyone else who at least waits for an answer.

"I am waiting."

_1492_

She sits within the silence of her room, newly papered a dark red, a needle and thread and a white day dress in her hands. She sews slowly and carefully, making sure the stitches are even, in length and spacing. She pulls the thread taut a few times, working out the small twisted knot in it before continuing.

She lets out a gentle sigh. The workload has been piling up lately; it needs to be done, whether she feels like doing it or not.

The thread snaps when she tugs it too hard, and she frowns, tying it off and threading her needle again.

She has never been this distracted before.

_1495_

"_Madonna_ Romano?"

She turns towards the voice.

"Yes?"

A young man, perhaps in his early twenties, approaches her hesitantly.

"W-would you... care to join me for dinner this evening?"

Her breath catches in her throat; what he said, not how he said it, reminds her of him.

"_Mi dispiace_, but I cannot. I am waiting."

"W-waiting? For what?"

She shakes her head.

"Not a 'what', but a 'who'."

The young man's head droops, clearly disheartened. She smiles kindly, touching his shoulder in comfort.

"There are far younger and prettier women than I. Do not lose hope."

He nods.

_1498_

Her hands tremble slightly, and she sets the needle down, letting out a long sigh. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Even now, after twelve years... there has been no word from him.

Her faith that he will return wavers slightly, questions and worries running wildly through her mind. What if something had happened to him? What if he is injured too terribly for anyone to heal? What if—

Her fingers touch the necklace she is wearing, and her other hand covers her face as the tears finally come.

She had promised to wait for him, and she has...

But she misses him so terribly.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

_December 1499_

How many years has it been since he had been in Venezia? "Far too many" is what his mind is telling him.

The city had changed, but not as drastically as he thought it would over the course of thirteen years. It is still a very beautiful city.

But something tugs at the back of his mind.

Was she still here?

His heart seems to tighten within his chest. She had promised to wait, but then again, he thought that Cristina would have...

Pushing the thought out of his mind, he thinks of the present.

He's not even sure if he can recall how to get to her villa, as the few times he managed to find it were all rather on accident and with good luck. However, he spots a group of courtesans, and he approaches them, a small smile on his lips.

"_Buongiorno_, _Donne_. I have a question for you, if you do not mind."

They look at him, a few hiding their faces slightly behind fans and giggling.

"_Buongiorno_, _signore_. And ask away."

"Does Elizabeth Romano di Venezia still live in the city?"

"Indeed she does." One points down a long, winding alleyway to her left. "She lives just down that way, in fact. Look for the crimson banner; it shouldn't take you too long to find it. Why do you ask, _signore_? Do you plan on courting her?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"She remains unmarried?"

"Oh, yes." Another answers him, fanning herself. "I have heard that her parents were not pleased that she hadn't. She isn't getting any younger, you know."

"Do many still court her?" He asks.

"They do. She is still very lovely, even for being past her prime. But she turns them down; every single one of them."

"What does she say to them?"

"It varies from person to person, but she is very polite about it. And when they ask her why, she simply says that she's 'waiting'."

"Waiting?"

The women shrug.

"Oh well. Thank you for your time, _Donne_."

He bows slightly, making them grin, and he goes on his way.

_She remains unmarried_…

_She simply says that she's 'waiting'_…

His heart flutters slightly at the words and he smiles again, pulling his hood back and pushing all thoughts of her refusing to wait any longer for him out of his mind.

The courtesans were right; it did not take him very long at all. Peering through the gated entrance of the small courtyard in the front, he sees a woman sitting on the ground and tending to the flowers, his ears picking up the delicate sound of hummed music. A smile is brightening her face, and he immediately recognizes her.

The past thirteen years had been very kind to her, but she had naturally lost some of her youth over the years. The courtesans were right about that, as well; she is still very lovely, especially for a woman nearing forty.

His eyes travel to her neck, and when he sees a shining necklace set with sapphires gleam in the light, he swears that his heart has stopped.

"Elizabeth Romano di Venezia?"

The woman turns her attention from the blossoms to him.

"Yes? How can I help you, _signore_?"

Even her way of speaking is different. She is much more relaxed than when he had met her all those years ago. He smiles.

"Do you not recognize me?"

She blinks, clearly confused.

"I… cannot say that I do. _Mi dispiace_."

He falters slightly.

"May I come in?"

"Oh… yes. Yes, of course. Please excuse my poor manners."

She rises from the ground, brushing her skirt free of any dirt and wrinkles, and steps lightly to the gate. Her hand rises to undo the latch, but she stops when she finds his hand on hers. She looks up at him, questions in her expression.

"Your eyes…" He whispers.

She blinks.

"What about them, _signore_?"

"They are such a deep, striking blue. They remind me very much of the night sky of Firenze. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Her eyes widen slightly, and she feels as if her heart may burst from her breast. Only one man has ever said that about her eyes.

"E…Ezio…?"

He smiles and nods once as she averts her attention back to the latch of the gate before almost flinging it open. She merely stands there, tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at him, her lower lip trembling slightly. He takes a step towards her, his arms sliding smoothly around her middle, and she presses herself against him.

"Ezio…"

"I am sorry that it took me so long to return to you."

His grip on her tightens as her hands ball into fists, one coming up to pound a few times against his chest.

"I have been waiting for you for thirteen years…"

She trails off, and he can hear the unshed tears in her voice. He rests his chin upon the crown of her head as her arms glide around his torso, hands clutching at the loose fabric.

"I have missed you, _il mio unico amore_."

His words make her heart skip a beat.

"I have no reason to leave you again. I shall stay with you, if you wish."

She looks up at him, the difference in their height still noticeable, and nods vigorously, her grip tightening. He merely smiles as his fingertips brush against her cheek, and he takes her into a kiss before she leads him inside, the door shutting behind them with a click.

The past thirteen years had been hard on her. But he is back. And that is all that matters.


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

"I have missed you. More than you may believe."

They lie in her bed, a light sheen of sweat clinging to both of their bodies, still entwined with one another. Their pants and heavy breaths resonate off the walls, and his fingertips brush smoothly across her cheek, his thumb resting upon her lips, stroking them almost carefully.

"You will return with me, yes?"

Her breath catches slightly in her throat.

"Return with you? To where?"

"To Monteriggioni. And the Villa Auditore." His arms slide smoothly around her middle. "I would like you to meet the rest of my family."

She leans into his embrace, pressing herself to him, and the words she whispers against his skin are enough to make him want to have returned already, introducing her to his mother, sister, and uncle at that very moment.

_I would like that very much._

_~La fine~_


End file.
